


Breathe Me

by burymeinziam



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-25 05:12:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 17,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burymeinziam/pseuds/burymeinziam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>basically a series of snapshots into the lives of Liam, Zayn and Niall and the ways in which they intertwine in both life and death. Some parts will be longer than others.  ((((this is past Ziam / Current Ziall. Just so people knowww))))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_The first time he saw him, Liam realized he could breathe._

_Liam discovered there was blood in his veins because he could almost see the blood running through the electric blue of Zayn’s. He had ears because he could hear the genuine sound of laughter escaping Zayn’s lips and the almost inaudible ticking of the heart safely tucked behind Zayn’s ribs. Liam had eyes to see the golden brown tan of Zayn’s skin and soft hazel in his eyes. And when Zayn saw Liam he knew it too. He knew it right away and he smiled big and bright and new and Liam knew right then that he had an imagination because Zayn’s eyes reminded him of molten gold._

_Liam discovered he had a heart in his chest because he felt something that day he first saw Zayn. He felt something that felt like the start of something else; something new. On that very first day he saw Zayn Liam knew, right away, that he automatically loved him. It was simply programmed into the wires of his head._

_When he finally gathered up the nerve to approach Zayn he almost didn’t want to touch him. Zayn had offered up his hand and introduced himself, his smile bright and alive and everything that made Liam’s heart melt and turn to mush, and Liam couldn’t bring himself to reciprocate the gesture. He couldn’t do it. Liam looked at Zayn and saw something fragile, something delicate and sacred and so terribly finite._

_Liam would never forget the wave of hurt that flashed behind Zayn’s eyes when he didn’t take his hand. He wouldn’t forget the way Zayn shoved his hands into his pockets, quick, as if he had been burned. Liam would always remember the way he had awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck and introduced himself, embarrassed, and tried to act as if nothing had ever happened, as if he hadn’t just marred the feelings of the most beautiful boy in the world._

_They would get over it. Zayn would smile again and, as always, Liam’s heart would swell and burst. Zayn would laugh and Liam would feel as if he were hearing the voices of a thousand angels. Time would undoubtedly pass, but even now as Liam lay in a shallow water that is slowly freezing his bones he’ll regret not taking Zayn’s hand that on that very first day._

_Even now, lying in that shallow bed of water, Liam is achingly aware of everything: the silent, but shockingly loud tick of Zayn’s beating heart, the shallow breaths that are escaping his slightly parted lips as he sleeps soundly in his bed a few miles across town. Mostly, though, Liam is aware of Zayn’s tears; the ones Zayn has yet to even shed. Liam is so painfully and acutely aware of them and he can’t help but to think he’s always felt them more than Zayn ever did, more than Zayn ever will. Being so close to a boy Liam so desperately wanted, a boy he desperately needed was just that dangerous._

_Liam wants to call out for Zayn, feels the urge to scream himself raw, but he seems to have lost the ability to open his mouth. He reaches out blindly for hands that will never close around his own._

_Liam is asking, begging, and pleading but he somehow knows that Zayn can’t even hear him._

_Strangely enough, Liam wonders if he ever could._


	2. Turpentine

Zayn only ever wanted to impress Liam. He lived to impress Liam.

He wanted Liam to think he was cool; to make Liam believe he was good enough.

Zayn liked to watch Liam paint. He’d lie on Liam’s bed with his head resting against his forearms while Liam sat at his desk sketching or drawing or painting. Liam was an artist; he made up worlds Zayn couldn’t even dream of, did things with his hands Zayn could hardly imagine. Liam created masterpieces that made Zayn’s heart ache and his eyes water, splayed colors on paper that Zayn couldn’t even pronounce on his tongue.

Zayn remembers the first painting Liam did for him. It was something small and simple; nothing anyone would marvel over or hang up in a gallery. They were hanging around in Liam’s room, Zayn sprawled out across Liam’s bed and Liam leaning back in his desk chair, talking about nothing and everything all at once when Zayn sat up and asked Liam to paint him a picture.

Liam chuckled, cocked his head to the side, amused. “Alright,” he said because he’d do almost anything Zayn asked of him even though Zayn didn’t know it. “What do you want?”

Zayn shrugged his shoulders. He hadn’t really thought of it. “I don’t know,” he answered. “Anything.”

So Liam painted him a tree. He painted Zayn a tree with little apples dangling from the branches and a bright yellow and orange sun looming overhead in an ocean sky. There were large, white, marshmallow clouds and tall blades of grass surrounding the base of the tree. It was something so simple and childish, but it was the most beautiful thing Zayn had seen because it was from Liam and it was his.

When Liam handed it over he laughed because he didn’t think it was much of anything. He didn’t realize how much it meant. In all honesty, Liam was embarrassed because he hadn’t been able to come up with anything better. He didn’t know how to paint something worthy of someone like Zayn; someone who, in his eyes, served as a reason to breathe, to think, to feel. So, Liam had painted him a tree with some apples and a bright yellow sun and handed it over with a laugh in the hopes that Zayn would think it was funny.

When Liam handed the painting over Zayn sat up, cross-legged, on the bed for a long while staring down at that tree with the bright red apples and marshmallow clouds. He didn’t say anything and Liam’s nerves were on fire and his mind was racing as he tried to think up something to say because he was sure Zayn hated it. He thought that maybe he should apologize and tell Zayn he can paint him something different, something better, he just needs some time because he isn’t quite sure what Zayn wants.

But then Zayn was setting the painting down on the bed and wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. He didn’t want Liam to see him cry but he couldn’t help it. Zayn felt stupid because some hastily painted picture of a tree really shouldn’t have made him so happy, but it did and it was because of Liam.

Zayn climbed off of the bed and huffed out a breath of laughter as he wrapped his arms around his best friend and tucked his face away into Liam’s neck. His body instantly relaxed when he felt Liam’s arms lock around his waist and Zayn breathed in that all too familiar scent of turpentine and paper.

It smelled like Liam and it felt like home.

When being hunched over began to put a strain on his back, Zayn pulled away and smiled, bright and happy, and real.

“Thank you,” Zayn’s voice was soft like a secret meant for Liam’s ears only. “I’ll keep it forever.”

Liam, like the painting, was meant for Zayn all along.         


	3. Crash

Zayn would see Liam with girls and wonder what Liam saw in them. He’d see Liam chat with them and watch the subtle rush of red that filled Liam’s cheeks whenever they would laugh and touch his arm. He’d make not of the way Liam would wrap an arm around their waists when they would drop their heads against his shoulders and Zayn would remember the way Liam’s arm felt around his own waist. He’d remember the way it felt and wonder how the very same gesture could feel so different, could mean two completely different things depended on the situation, the context of the relationship.

Zayn would find himself picking up the habits of those girls whenever he would hang out with Liam on his own. He’d laugh at all of Liam’s jokes and touch his arm as he told Liam how funny he was. He’d allow their eyes to lock for a few seconds to long, blushing and ducking his head when it all became too intense. Zayn would lean his head against Liam’s shoulder and sigh into his skin, feel Liam’s involuntary shiver, when Liam’s arm found his waist. 

More often than not Zayn found himself staring at Liam’s lips the same way those girls did. He’d catch the flicker of Liam’s eyes as they glanced down at Zayn’s and a flash of want that Liam quickly pushed away before he shifted away and changed the subject of conversation.

Zayn didn’t know what it all meant. He couldn’t fathom what it was he was doing wrong or what it was that Liam wanted. He just wanted to get things right; to make Liam see that Zayn wanted him and that he was there and he was waiting.

There was always that lingering thought in the back of Zayn’s head that told him that maybe, just maybe, Liam didn’t even like boys. That even though his eyes would linger a little longer than necessary whenever he looked at Zayn, and even though Zayn never missed that flash of want in Liam’s eyes or feel it in Liam’s hands whenever they came into contact with Zayn’s skin, it didn’t mean anything. There was nothing there and Liam was straight and Zayn was only pining after a boy who would never want him back.

But then there was the night that Liam called him around two in the morning, drunk with the sound of shitty techno music playing in the background. Zayn answered the phone with a tired sleep filled “hello” and then Zayn was rambling on and on about how he should have known Zayn was sleeping and he’s sorry for calling and he’s just so drunk and maybe he should just call Zayn back in the morning.

“No, no, no,” Zayn had said, sitting up in bed and wiping the sleep from his eyes. “It’s fine. Is something wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing,” Liam answered as he rubbed his hand over his hair. “I’m just—I’m out here and there are all these girls and the music and the alcohol and it’s all here and I just…”

Liam trailed off as he tried to connect the thoughts racing through his head. Zayn waited patiently, the phone pressed tight against his ear, for Liam to continue and it was only when he could hear nothing but the harsh, frustrated breaths escaping Liam’s lips that he pressed on for more information.

“You just what, Liam?”

“They’re all here and I don’t even want them,” Liam breathed out as he leaned against the cold brick of the night club. It smells like piss and vomit and sex but it didn’t bother Liam at all because he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt free because he’d said what he’d been feeling for the longest time and even though there isn’t anything he could really do about it, it was good to know the truth was out in the open.

“You don’t want them,” Zayn repeated, unsure where Liam was going with this. He had hopes. He hoped that Liam was going to say that he wanted him, had always wanted him, but Zayn wouldn’t push for it. He’d let Liam say whatever he wanted to say on his own terms.

“No,” Liam admitted. “My family wants me to want them… my dad, my grandparents. They’re always thrusting girls at me hoping I’ll end up liking one of them, you know?  And I try. I try so hard and I just… I can’t. And I come out here and they throw themselves at me, Zayn, like literally throw themselves at me and I’ll try. I’ll kiss them and I’ll let them push my hands up their shirts or their skirts… I’ll even give in sometimes and fuck ‘em in one of the bathroom stalls at the back of the club or in the backseat of my car…”

Zayn’s heart was racing while he listened to Liam’s words. He’d never really heard Liam speak like this, never heard him so candid and unrehearsed. Liam had a tendency to choose his words carefully, he never spoke without thought, and yet, here he was at three in the morning calling Zayn drunk talking about how he’s having sex with girls in the backseat of his car.

“I try so hard, Zayn, and I do all of these things and I just… nothing works.” Liam sounded sad now, defeated. “And you know why, Zayn?”

Zayn drew in a deep breath. “Why, Liam?”

“It’s because of you,” Liam confessed. “It’s because I see them and I think of you.”

There was a lingering pause in which Zayn took in what Liam had just told him and Liam accepted the fact that he’d actually put it out there. Zayn figured he should have said something, but he wasn’t sure what the right words were. Liam had basically said what he’d wanted him to say, but there was a certain bitterness to his words as well that kind of put Zayn on edge.

“It sucks, you know?” Liam continued when the quiet felt as though it had stretched on for too long. “Because I can’t even do anything about it. My family would hate me and it’s not like that bothers me, but… I just know they’d practically disown me and then I would have nothing. That shouldn’t bug me so much because even if I didn’t have them I’d have you, you know? And you’re practically everything, Zayn; from the moment I saw you, you were everything. I’m just so fucking scared.”

Liam paused and the line went quiet all over again save for the obnoxious bass of the music playing from the inside of the club. Outside it still smelled like piss and vomit and sex and it was beginning to bother Liam. He no longer felt free, his shoulders felt heavy all over again. He realized it wasn’t so simple as saying everything out loud, he realized that he may have been better off keeping everything inside because now that it was out there he had the opportunity, the option, to do something about it.

“I have no control over my life,” Liam said, his voice quiet. Somehow he just knew Zayn was still on the other line with the phone pressed tight against his ear and his knees tucked into his chest as he hung on to Liam’s every word. “My parents dictate my every move and I have no choice but to do as they say unless I want to be living out on the streets, you know? And I never chose to fall in love with you. I never asked to see you and feel so… I never asked to feel so much. I feel like I need you. I feel like without you I can’t even fucking  _breathe._ I can’t control the things I feel or the things that I do and I just…” Liam trailed off, collected his thoughts before continuing.

“Sometimes I think about crashing,” Liam said, his voice quiet and heavy as it hung over Zayn’s head in the quiet of his bedroom. “Whenever I get behind the wheel of my car I think about driving straight off of a cliff or into a tree, maybe wrapping my car around a lamppost or something…”

Liam’s words felt heavy as they traveled over telephone wires or satellites or whatever it was that kept him and Zayn connected over the phone. Zayn had never seen a dead person before, had never even known anyone who had died. However, even with no experience or authority in the area, Zayn could practically see Liam in that moment and know that he was practically gone.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this,” Liam said suddenly. “I guess it’s just because I think about it all the time and I—I guess I just don’t want to crash without ever telling you how much I loved you.”

The line went quiet again and then Zayn could hear Liam sighing on the other end. He thought he should have said he loved him too, something to let Liam know that it was okay and that he wasn’t alone but Zayn couldn’t help but to think it would sound too superficial. It would be too soon and Liam would think Zayn couldn’t possibly mean it or that he was saying just so Liam wouldn’t feel so sad anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Liam offered after a while. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“No, Liam—”

“Goodnight, Zayn.”

The line went dead and suddenly the silence filling Zayn’s room felt excruciatingly loud. All he could think about was the sound of Liam’s car slamming into a building or a lamppost like he’d described on the phone. All he could see was Liam’s lifeless body trapped between crushed metal and glass.

He didn’t get it at first, why something so grisly and unpleasant appealed to Liam. Zayn didn’t understand it until much later that crashing, for Liam, felt like the only way to take control. It was something he could do by choice, something he could take control over. It was something that was his and nobody else’s.

Zayn waited for later. He stayed up the whole night thinking about what Liam had said, wondered what he would say when Liam finally decided to call him back.

Zayn waited for later. He checked his phone every ten or fifteen minutes just to make sure he didn’t have any missed calls or text messages. And then his phone finally did ring, but the number flashing on the screen was one he didn’t recognize.

Zayn didn’t even have to answer the phone because he already knew.

He wanted to hate him for doing something so selfish, for calling that night and saying everything he’d said only to wrap his car around a lamppost just like he’d described. Zayn wanted to be angry, but he couldn’t locate the emotion.  

Zayn only loved Liam all the same. 


	4. When Two  Are One

Niall was there the day Zayn and Liam died.

Strangely enough he was on the same planet, breathing the same polluted air and feeling the same cold breeze against his skin. He was in that atmosphere, but was never in the background.

Niall was trailing behind him as they left biology when Zayn got the phone call. He was more curious than anyone else, about why the shy, quirky boy who made the odd joke during class was suddenly sobbing and heaving as he dropped all of his books and fell to his knees in the middle of the hallway.

Niall and Zayn had never been close, but they were friends. They talked during class from time to time and had been too each other’s houses on a few occasions to work on homework or school projects. Niall was close enough to Zayn to know that Zayn and Liam were even closer. Zayn and Liam were closer than any two people could get. Niall wasn’t blind to the fact that Zayn and Liam shared a bond that no outsider could ever truly ever understand.

So, when Niall kneeled beside Zayn in the hallway and heard him mumbling “he can’t be dead” over and over under his breath, he knew Zayn couldn’t have been talking about anyone other than Liam.

Liam was dead and in that moment Niall knew Zayn was dead too because he made the mistake of loving Liam too much.

Niall made a move to reach out and help Zayn off of the ground but before he could initiate any sort of contact Zayn was up and running. Everyone stopped and watched him go but it seemed like they knew better than to try and stop him or to ask what was wrong. It was as if the entire school knew that Zayn needed to go; to leave and find someplace where he could clear his head.

Zayn ran fast but grief sent him tumbling as soon as he pushed through the wide double doors that led to the front steps of the school.

Niall was hot on Zayn’s heels and it was his own grief that kept his feet pounding out the erratic beating of his heart. It was his own grief that kept him there breathing the same polluted air and feeling the same cold breeze and hot tears against his skin as he caught Zayn before he could hit the ground.

It was Niall’s own grief that kept him there, holding onto his friend, as he watched the boy he loved die.

Niall was there the day Liam Payne died. He could practically hear the echo of the news sounding from the cell phone Zayn had dropped back in the hallway when his world collapsed. And even though his blood wasn’t painted in the soft white of the snow Liam’s body was found in, Niall knew that Zayn had died too; his tears were trapped deep within the fabric of Niall’s shirt and that was proof enough.

Niall was there through it all, but Zayn was already gone.


	5. Freedom

_It took a while for Liam to realize that Zayn was actually there; that he was a real and tangible human being. It took time for him to realize that Zayn had hands to grab things with, a mouth to smile with, feet that carried him from point “a” to point “b” just like everyone else._

_Once Liam was able to draw that conclusion Zayn became the best friend he ever had. Liam was able to share things with Zayn that he’d never even dreamed of admitting to himself. He opened up his mind and his heart, he showed Zayn his artwork and explained the interworkinngs of his mind, explained all of the things from which he drew inspiration. And Zayn told Liam things too. Zayn shared all of his hopes and his dreams, he told Liam stories about his childhood, funny anecdotes about all of the trouble he used to get into that made Liam laugh until his sides hurt. Pretty soon, Liam didn’t want anyone else. He didn’t need any other friends because no one would ever be able to measure up. Zayn understood Liam in a way nobody else ever had. With Zayn, Liam could be himself. Liam liked himself more when he was around Zayn. People seemed to expect so much out of Liam, but with Zayn there were no pretenses. He only wanted Liam to be his friend, to love him and Liam had always done that._

_Liam found himself loving Zayn more than he ever thought possible. He found himself unable to imagine a life without him._

_Zayn was something Liam had always longed for. He was love and acceptance and friendship and, but he was something he could never have._

_Liam didn’t care about what his family thought about him, he didn’t care if they accepted the fact that Liam liked boys just as much as he liked girls. Liam didn’t care if his father hated him and called him a fag. It might have hurt his feelings and it might have pained him to know his parents were unable to accept him, but it was something Liam had learned to accept and come to terms with. Liam pushed his “urges”, as his father called them, somewhere deep inside of him and focused on other things. He focused on school and finding a girlfriend and keeping his parents happy. As long as he did that Liam would have stability._

_But then he met Zayn and his whole world turned upside down._

_Zayn was love and acceptance and friendship, yes, but Zayn also meant abandonment, loss, and rejection._

_Liam knew the moment he gave in and allowed himself the one thing he’d always hoped and longed for his family would cast him aside like yesterday’s garbage. Perhaps fearing something like that and denying himself happiness made him a coward. Perhaps knowing Zayn also wanted more and pretending that more is not even an option made Liam selfish. Perhaps Liam was both of those things and so much more._

_Loving Zayn was a simultaneous experience of sheer torture and pure, unadulterated bliss. It was the best and worst thing to ever happen to Liam. It was the thing that both brought him to life and sent him to his death._

_Zayn gave Liam a reason to breathe, but Liam was also suffocating. He was trapped. He was trapped by feelings and ultimatums that were being thrust at him and Liam had no sense of control. He never asked to love a boy more than he loved himself; he never wanted to live a life that was completely run by his parents. Liam’s life was being dictated by outside sources and circumstance and it was driving him insane._

_But when Liam sat behind the wheel of a car, he felt control._

_He turned the key in the ignition and knew that all the decisions he made behind the wheel were his._

_Liam knew that if he crashed, the impact he made on his life was his own._

_Liam looked at Zayn and saw love and acceptance and a boy who was the very reason he had blood rushing through his veins and air in his lungs. He felt joy he knew he’d never experience in any other aspect of his life._

_But when Liam looked at his car he saw choice and control._

_Liam looked to his car and saw freedom._


	6. Paper Flowers

Zayn went to the funeral after Liam died. He went even though it was too much and he wore a suit that was too big and shiny black shoes that were too small. He watched them carry Liam’s casket, but he knew Liam wasn’t in it. He was, but then he wasn’t. The Liam Zayn knew had been alive; had been as bright as the colors Zayn had never been able to pronounce that dripped off the ends of Liam’s paintbrushes. Liam was an angel in disguise; he had wings.

Liam could fly.

That boy in the casket was just a body in a suit; an empty shell with no soul inside.

There were flowers. Real ones that smelled too sweet for the occasion. They were a mask hiding Liam’s face. They were a mockery and a joke because nothing is beautiful about your best friend, the boy you love more than you’re even able to comprehend, dying. Zayn saw the flowers and they made him sick because he knew Liam would have hated them. Liam would have wanted flowers, yes, but he would have wanted paper flowers in every color and maybe someone to dance upon his casket because it would have been silly enough to make Zayn smile.

Zayn didn’t dare suggest it though. He just kept his mouth shut and flexed his toes in his too small shoes because he knew nobody would have listened.

Niall was there. Liam knew him. He knew him back when they were them because Liam wasn’t dead. Not yet. He saw Niall in the halls at school and smiled when Niall sat too close even though there was jealousy shooting and spinning through his veins. Liam smiled because Niall was nice and could love Zayn in a way he simply couldn’t.

 _“That Niall kid is a pretty cool guy,”_ Liam would say from time to time. _“You should invite him to hang out more often.”_

It used to upset Zayn that Liam was trying to get him interested in other guys. He had to have known Zayn only ever really wanted him. But now, thinking back on it, Zayn knows that Liam was just trying to save him. He knew Liam only wanted him to have a friend for when he left or a shoulder to cry on when Liam finally built up the courage to walk away from everything he ever needed but never had the guts to reach out and take.

Zayn couldn’t bring himself to cry no matter how much he wanted to. He sat in the pews of the church and willed the tears to come, begged whatever god or higher power was out there to allow the tears to stain his cheeks, but it never happened. As much as Zayn wanted, and needed, to cry he knew it wouldn’t fix anything. It wouldn’t bring Liam back because Liam was gone. Liam had left behind in favor of some afterlife Zayn could never get to.

Liam’s eulogy was a lie given by a man who didn’t know of Liam’s existence until he saw his name written on one of the ugly programs his parents had printed up for the service. It was all about how good of a boy Liam was, how much his parents loved him, how his friends will miss him. They spoke of how Liam was supposed to go far in life and how tragic it was that his time was cut so short.

It was all a lie and Zayn hated it because Liam wasn’t all good. Liam hated his parents and Zayn had a hard time believing that the feeling wasn’t mutual. Liam was selfish and afraid and a coward and Zayn wished so hard that he could hate him and sometimes he did, but then he would remember Liam’s smile and the way his eyes lit up every time he would see Zayn’s face. Zayn would remember the painting Liam had done for him the one time he had asked, the one of the tree he had tucked away in a shoe box shoved in the back of his closet, and he’d have a hard time fighting the wave of love and adoration he saved only for Liam.

The thing is, though, Zayn wasn’t entirely innocent either. Zayn was just as selfish as Liam had been. He’d seen Liam’s soul and tucked it away somewhere deep inside of him so Liam could never leave him; not really. Liam’s body was in that casket, but it was only a shell. Zayn had his most important parts and he would never let him go.

When the service was over and everyone had made their peace and gone home, Zayn stayed behind and watched the grave workers shovel fresh dirt on top of the shiny black casket. He said goodbye to what was left of his friend before turning around and walking home.

The next day Zayn came back and, at Liam’s grave, he planted paper flowers. 


	7. The Auditor

Niall was in tune with his senses.

Not in that way that makes people extra sensitive or soft or more empathetic than the average person. He just noticed things that most people missed out on. Niall was an observer and an auditor of the invisible sort. He felt it was simple: if you looked, you saw; if you listened, you heard.

Niall could always tell there was something more. It was subtle and hidden under layers of skin and blood and secrets. But he could hear it in their voices when they talked to each other. It was in the way Liam would slip up and call Zayn “love” when they would all ride in the car together. Niall could feel the friction of their skin when their shoulders brushed as they all crowded together on the sidewalks. He could hear Zayn’s voice, soft and quiet and rarely used, come to life with this raw energy that buzzed and crackled and sparked whenever he spoke Liam’s name. 

Niall could feel things too. He could feel the way Liam would stare at Zayn from across a room and he could feel the heat rising in Zayn’s cheeks whenever he caught him. But there was a spiritual element in the air that first week after Liam crashed. Niall felt more attuned to the boys than ever before. He could feel darkness in Zayn, something that felt old and tired and worn down. He could hear him crying; feel the tears slipping down his cheeks as Zayn looked down at Liam’s casket. But when he saw Zayn’s face, his cheeks were dry.

When he looked at Zayn, Niall saw drab eyes rimmed black with dark circles. Niall saw pale skin and a loss of will; a rapid ageing process that could be just enough to kill him. Niall saw photos of Liam and he saw the real-life image of a boy Zayn used to love. 

Sometimes, Niall had a hard time telling which one of them had died.


	8. Whiskey Lullaby

“Take me somewhere,” Zayn says. “Take me anywhere; anywhere that will set me free.”

Niall understands. He understands the desire to be free and he knows that Zayn feels trapped. Niall may not be able to see them, not really, but he can feel the way Zayn feels bound and chained to this earth and the boy who now resides beneath it. Niall knows the chains of love.

So he nods and they borrow his parent’s car and they drive with the windows down and the wind in their hair even though it’s dark out and the air feels frosty and chilled. Niall isn’t even really sure Zayn can feel it anyways.

“I brought something,” Zayn says, glancing over at Niall. “But it’s a surprise.”

“Oh yeah?” Niall answers. “What kind of surprise?”

Zayn just grins a secret, black and introverted and dangerous, before shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know,” he says. “You’ll just have to be a good boy and wait.”

Niall knew he liked it when Zayn flirted with him and he didn’t really mind that it was probably the grief or the alcohol he could smell on Zayn’s breath spurring the other boy on. No, Niall didn’t mind when Zayn’s cheeks were flushed a soft rose petal pink and saying things that he probably didn’t really mean.

Niall drives them to this club he’d heard a few kids at school talk about a couple of times and this girl in his speech class had told him it was “a real hot spot; a chill place.” Niall figured a place that could reside on both ends of the spectrum had to be worth visiting and dancing might bring Zayn a little closer while simultaneously loosening the shackles around Zayn’s ankles.

The club is called Masquerade and it’s painted bright like the inside of a flower; so bright they could get lost in it.

And they do.

At masquerade everyone wears masks. They had them out at the door and some of them have feathers while others are coated in glitter and have flowers glued to the sides that smell like bliss. At masquerade you can be whoever you want to be. You can change your name, where you’re from, your date of birth. You can be someone’s forbidden fruit for the night.

At masquerade you have the freedom to be anything and that’s exactly what Zayn needs.

“You want a drink?” Zayn asks. His mask is suffocating him and his voice feels dry like the paper flowers he left at Liam’s grave.

Niall shakes his head. “No. I’m fine.”

Zayn buys him a Coca Cola anyways when he buys one for himself and when he comes back, Zayn is grinning and pouring whiskey from a flask he’d hidden in the pocket of his jacket into both of their glasses. “Ready for your surprise, Niall?”

Niall already feels like he has a buzz going even though he hasn’t had anything to drink yet. It’s like there’s this electrical current pumping through his brain. A mask casting a shadow over reality and Niall is having trouble deciphering real time from the things he’s conjured up in his head.

“Sure,” he says. “Yeah. What is it?”

Suddenly, Zayn feels close and he’s swinging and swaying and his hips are sort of pressed flush against Niall’s with their legs intertwining like vines. And Zayn’s hands are wrapped loosely around Niall’s neck. The strobe lights make him feel light headed in a way that would be a little unnerving and uncomfortable if Niall wasn’t feeling so loose and pliant and he wonders why they’re only like this when they’re fucked up.

“I’m just like my dead boyfriend,” Zayn whispers and his breath smells like liquor and cinnamon. “If you could even call him that.”

Niall can see him place the snow white pill on his serpent’s tongue; hear the hiss of Liam’s cries as he dies on impact and, there, beneath the tree of knowledge and the suffocating plastic of his masquerade, Niall slips the second pill into his own mouth eager to chase a freedom all his own.

The Garden of Eden seems to fade away as the strobe lights create a nauseating tumble of white lights that do nothing aside from blind Niall’s vision. The serpent stole his tongue, evil, as Zayn presses his body closer.

“Let’s you and I be innocent, yeah? We’ll have wings and we’ll fly. Like angels.”

And Niall chuckles because if they’re anything, angels aren’t it. “I don’t think we’re innocent enough to be angels, but I’ll play with you.”

Beneath the masks, Niall knows they’re still the same boys with curfews and secrets that no one can ever know. They were the same two kids with skeletons buried deep with closets and fresh dirt piled high around a cement name plate. But feather’s and sparkles and plastic on strings made them pure for the night even if it wasn’t quite real. They were as pure as the drug melted on their tongues.

Innocent, but not quite.

Zayn’s mouth feels sloppy when it collides with Niall’s. It’s a mess of tongues and teeth and lullabies sung soft and sweet by a flask filled with stolen whiskey. Niall pushes their masks aside and he can feel Zayn’s hot tears against his cheeks. He can taste the shame on his tongue; feel Liam’s breath warm against his skin.

And Niall knows, just as he knows everything else, that Zayn wears yet another mask.


	9. Palm Over Heart (1)

_Liam opened his eyes and realized he could see._

_And it wasn’t just the inside of a wooden box, but earth. It was dim and it was shallow and the lights kept flickering. There was an audible buzz of electricity popping and beyond the door, Liam heard music._

_Liam opened his eyes and he saw life; he saw Zayn._

_He was clear as day even though the club was dank and dark and dirty and nowhere near anywhere someone as purely beautiful as Zayn belonged. But there he was, living and breathing and laughing and it was like Liam had never seen him before._

_Not like this._

_It was Zayn and then it wasn’t because Zayn didn’t swing and he didn’t sway. He didn’t close his eyes and raise his hands above his head and fall into boys he knew loved him but didn’t feel the same._ __  
  
_And then there’s another boy with tight pants and wild hair that’s sticking out every which way and he’s staring. His eyes make Liam uncomfortable because he knows. Liam knows that this kid wants and with the way things are going Zayn just may give it to him._

_Zayn looks a bit unsteady when the boy taps him on the shoulder and he smiles as he steps away from Niall. The guy asks Zayn if he wants to dance and Niall shrugs his shoulders and says he doesn’t mind. He needs to use the bathroom anyways._

_The music is thumping and Zayn is swaying again and his eyes are glazed over as the boy’s hands travel to his hips. He asks for a name._

_“Zayn. What’s yours?”_

_And the boy says. “Michael.”_

_It’s strange seeing him like this and Liam wonders if everything he’d known before this moment had been a dream. If he’d only been sleeping and now he’s just woken up and seeing things as they really are. He isn’t sure._

_All he knows is he wants to wrap Zayn in his arms and tell him it’s okay, but when he reaches out all he feels is dry air and a longing for a boy he’s beginning to think he never really knew._

_The boy with the tight pants reaches up to remove Zayn’s mask, his fingers curling around the hairs at the nape of Zayn’s neck as he slips it off. And Zayn is looking at him with wide eyes and he’s shaking but he also looks loose and languid and when Liam thinks about it everything is a contradiction because he’s dead but he’s also seeing._

_Liam can see Zayn’s movements and their foreign._

_Zayn doesn’t go to clubs and he doesn’t drink and take pills._

_He doesn’t stand too close to strangers and let their fingers dance along the waistband of his jeans._

_But Liam can also see Zayn’s eyes and he’s familiar._

_He’s a boy with bright smiles and fingers that slid along parts of Liam he never dared to share with anyone else_

_“You’re pretty,” The boy with the wild hair says. “Too pretty to be walking around with a mask.”_

_Zayn’s cheeks are flushed and Liam has a hard time telling if it’s because of the pills or the booze or the boy. He wonders if it’s because this boy is giving Zayn something Liam never could. It isn’t quite love, but it’s affection. And maybe it’s selfish because this boy is hoping for something in return (a warm body in a cramped bathroom stall or the backseat of a car) but he isn’t afraid and he isn’t hiding behind the wheel of a car praying for an easy way out._

_The boy drags his hand down the slope of Zayn’s neck, over his chest, stopping over his heart. “Nervous?” He asks and it must be Zayn’s heart. Liam can almost feel it pounding._

_And even though his own had long stopped beating, Liam thinks he can feel it break when the boy strokes Zayn’s cheek._


	10. Palm Over Heart (2)

Zayn slept in Liam’s bed when the nights were quiet and Liam’s parents were oblivious to everything aside from their own dreams.

Zayn slept beside Liam like a friend.

Beneath him like a lover.

Above him like a god.

Around him like a shield.

But in the end, Zayn was none of those things (except for Liam’s friend; maybe he could be that. Just that); not really. Not out loud. Because even though Zayn was everything, even though he was the blood rushing through Liam’s veins, working its way through his body to keep his heart beating and his lungs pumping, Liam couldn’t allow him to be more because it was all too much. Zayn was overwhelming, he kept Liam on his toes and made him feel as though the world were simultaneously expanding and caving in. He was contradictory in the sense that he was everything Liam could possibly want, and even need, and yet the one thing Liam felt compelled to keep at arms distance.

But Zayn slept in Liam’s bed and when he tried to kiss him, Liam pressed a finger to his lips and whispered “no; not again” because the last time was an accident. The last time Liam had slipped and let Zayn in a little further than he had meant to and while his lips were soft and smooth where Liam’s were rough and chapped and they felt like heaven and hell all at the same time (beautiful in a way Liam could only describe with a brush and paint), it was something he couldn’t allow. It was something Liam couldn’t have because Liam was a coward and he was selfish and he didn’t deserve something so great.

“You didn’t mean it did you?” Zayn asks quietly. “You didn’t mean any of it.”

Liam’s first instinct is to lie; to tell Zayn he didn’t mean it at all and that he’s sorry but maybe he should leave. Maybe Zayn should walk out the door and never come back because life would just be so much easier.

But then Liam looks at Zayn and he can see the hurt and the fear and the hope in his eyes even though the room is pitch black and everything else is shadows and dark silhouettes. Liam looks at him and knows that in itself would be a lie because even though life with Zayn is difficult a life without him makes Liam think his heart would stop beating; his lungs would stop producing air and there would really be no reason.

And Liam drops his gaze, drags a hand over his face, says “Of course I meant it.”

“Then why do you regret it?”

Liam doesn’t answer right away and when he does it’s not even a real answer to the question so much as it is a confession; a secret.

He talks of past lives and maybe loving Zayn before they were really them. That maybe they weren’t even really together before, but they always knew. Liam says he thinks he probably fucked up really badly in one of those lives and that was why loving Zayn now was so hard; why he was such a coward. He figured this was why he felt so connected and drawn and in love with someone who also causes him so much pain.

“It shouldn’t be this way,” Liam said. “I shouldn’t be such a coward. I shouldn’t feel so selfish. I shouldn’t love you as much as I do and I’m sorry.”

And Zayn can see the apology in Liam’s eyes, buried, like a secret. And even though it’s harsh and it hurts, Zayn knows that it’s sincere.

Liam kisses him then. It’s slow and tentative and scared and it only lasts a few seconds, but Zayn cherishes it like gold. And when he looks at Liam again a few moments later his eyes look like the moon just before it rains, clear and bright like a lullaby.

“I don’t regret it,” Liam says pressing his hand on Zayn’s chest, just over where his heart should be. Just a beat left to the center folded beneath skin and bone and lean muscle.

With Liam’s palm over his heart, Zayn felt like he could breathe.

He felt like he was living.

With Liam’s palm over his heart, Zayn felt loved.


	11. Angel

Her name was Angel, but she called herself Shadow even though she was pale as a ghost.

And she smelled like a rainbow; a barrage of scents that were too sickly sweet and made Liam feel nauseous whenever she came too close.

But he kissed her.

He kissed and she enveloped him in a vanilla-raspberry-hyacinth sea; an ocean of femininity that he was supposed to have loved, but only served to make his stomach turn.

But Angel was pretty underneath all of the dark make up and too-small clothing. She was pretty and she was kind and she liked Liam even though he was young and damaged and scared.

She was there, and in a way Liam loved her for that because she was something he needed; something to distract him from Zayn’s honey brown eyes and youthful smile. When he climbed on top of her, Angel was soft and curvy where Zayn was thin and angular. Liam fell into her flesh and felt warm and sated and she would stroke his hair and lull him to sleep.

But he would never dream of halos or shadows.

It was Zayn. Always Zayn.

Sometimes Liam would cry because he was selfish and needy and scared even though he never wanted to be. He cried because Angel liked him even though he’d never return the sentiment; not really. He cried because life was ugly and hard and too complicated and there was nothing he could do to change that.

And Angel would pull him into her chest (her breasts were like pillows, Liam thought, and they made him feel like he was falling, falling; free.) and kiss his hair. “What do you want me to do for you?”

Liam thought of Zayn, buried himself deeper into her skin. “Hold me.”

“People pay me for sex,” Angel would say, pulling him closer as she continued to stroke his hair. “And you just want to be held.”

Liam hummed in response, closed his eyes and focused on falling, falling; free.

He chose her.

Liam chose her and Zayn never really even knew.

But if he had, Liam thinks Zayn would have asked why in that quiet voice that never failed to make Liam’s heart twist and ache.

“Why her?”

Because Angel smelled like too much perfume and she liked Liam, but she didn’t love. Angel didn’t scare him the way Zayn did because Angel didn’t make Liam want to give and she didn’t take. Liam looked at Zayn and he wanted to give him everything: his heart, his soul, everything; and he knew Zayn would do the same. But Zayn also meant rejection and judgment and his father’s disapproving gaze as he’s shoved out the door and told to never come back.

“Why her?”

Because Angel was easy and even though every second Liam was with her he felt as though he were suffocating and not quite living, he could submerge himself into her skin and pretend he like he was falling, falling; free.

Liam chose Angel because she wasn’t Zayn.

She was as far away from him as he could get.


	12. Play Pretend

Niall’s room smelled like sweet Mary Jane and a love that can only ever be understood by a boy and his own hand. It was sweetened fantasies conjured up with his head buried in a pillow, his blankets pooled around his ankles, and a half empty bottle of lube tucked underneath the porn tucked away in his drawer.

Even though it was Liam who had died, Zayn thought Niall’s room smelled like death. Or maybe it just smelled like Liam (because Liam was everywhere) so death just surrounded him like a veil.

Sometimes it was hard to tell.

He laid on the sheets that smelled too much like Liam. Niall couldn’t bring himself to undress him; not in this room where the memory of Liam clung to their saturated breaths. But Zayn’s clothes were stained with whiskey and perfume and dry sweat and vomit. Alcohol was oozing from his pores.

There was a sour taste in Zayn’s mouth that tasted something like pity. Niall could literally feel the misery that wafted from every inch of the boy he loved. He looked into eyes that were blank and glassy, saw skin that was pale and slick with sweat, listened to groans that stank of pain and suffering and fell from lips that had once kissed those belonging to a boy who was no longer anything but a ghost.

Niall knew the spirits that haunted this boy. Yes, it was Liam who had died, but it was obvious that it was Zayn who was no longer living. He was a robot in disguise; cool steel flesh and metallic breath.

And here he was, reaching out and pulling back as if he’d been burned.  

Niall took Zayn’s hands and settled into the shaking boy with soft whispers that were supposed to be soothing, but weren’t doing much of anything at all. He knew that words were futile, but Niall couldn’t bring himself touch him. He wanted to touch Zayn’s face so he’d know what it meant to feeling of a warm body instead of that of an icy corpse, but he had the feeling that his hand would go straight through Zayn’s skin and into the waste that was rotting him away from the inside out.

The sun was rising behind the shadowed curtains and it reminded Niall of the funeral where he watched Zayn die again and again while they carried Liam’s casket.

Where Zayn had gone up and removed all the flowers from the cherry wood when the service had ended and tossed them to the floor in an almost quiet reverence.

Where he had knelt down by Liam’s cold grave where he’d been buried too young and stuck paper flowers with smooth tissue petals and crooked green veins.

But they were just that: paper; not real, and held not the slightest bit of life.

They weren’t really flowers; they were just pretending.

And when Niall really thinks about it, he can’t help but to think that Zayn is just like those flowers; a shell of a boy pretending to breathe and feel and live and not even realizing he’s holding someone’s hand.   


	13. Wings of Wax

 Zayn is drunk, like wasted, and it’s funny because he never thought he’d really see himself like this. He never thought Niall would see him like this. Or Liam.

Not even Liam because Zayn was nice and he was good and pure and Liam thought he was an angel.

But Zayn can see Liam in the flask he snuck into his pocket and the dark liquid pooling at the bottom matches the color of his eyes, winking and sloshing around in its metal prison; trapped.

Kind of like that coffin. Almost. Not really.

And how can this be? Just a few weeks ago Zayn and Liam were so close; closer than magnets or the worn out pages of a favorite book. They were closer than friends could ever really be and now Liam is floating somewhere in space. They’re separated by this unknown universe that draws a line between those who breathe and those who don’t.

The thing is though, the real irony of it all, is that Zayn doesn’t really know how to breathe without Liam by his side. Even though they say it’s involuntary, lungs just pump air and that’s that. You don’t really have any control over it; it just happens. Even though they say that, Zayn isn’t sure it’s all true because the moment Liam died he feels as though his heart stopped breathing and his lungs stopped making air and everything just ceased to be. Life sort of ended and he’s been walking around on autopilot.

Even now with now with Niall on top of him, fucking him into the bed Zayn doesn’t really feel anything; not the smooth slide of his best friend’s cock in his ass or the warmth of Niall’s fingers against his skin. He doesn’t hear the soft breaths of air ghosting over his ears when Niall leans over to press kisses to Zayn’s cheeks, his eyelids. Zayn is drunk, wasted, and Niall is sweet and caring and forgiving in a way that Zayn doesn’t think he deserves.

And when it’s over, when Niall gasps out Zayn’s name like a prayer and his arms give out just before he collapses on the bed next to Zayn who is still half hard and in a another world, the only thing Zayn can really think  of is how the body next to his isn’t Liam’s. Niall reaches over and wraps Zayn in his arms and asks if this is okay, if _he’s_ , okay. Niall holds Zayn like he’s disappearing and all Zayn can think about is how those arms holding him so close and dear to a heart that is warm and beating inside of a living body aren’t Liam’s.

The thing is though, Zayn wishes he were disappearing. He wishes his body were fading away little by little until there was nothing left because Zayn doesn’t think he really has a reason anymore.

But he’s still here. And his reason? Well, Liam’s gone and it isn’t quite fair.

Niall still holds him though and he whispers sweet things into Zayn’s ear. He tells him not to cry ( _“please don’t cry, darling; I hate to see you cry”_ ) and he pets Zayn’s hair and kisses him light and airy like the angel Zayn never really was.

And God is it beautiful and, God, does Zayn feel safe and loved and cared for.

But Niall is Niall and not Liam.

Never Liam.

Zayn remembers a time when Liam told him that chaos was the absence of love and, when he thinks about it, Zayn thinks Niall is the only thing keeping him from being swept up and left behind.

That night the colors were so bright and swirling before Zayn’s eyes like a carousel at dusk as he swallowed pills that brought Liam to him like a vision. Zayn knew he should have been home but he wanted that ride. He wanted visions that brought him closer to the stars where he thought Liam might be hiding. He wanted the freedom of alcohol and neon signs and masquerade masks.

But then Zayn was falling; falling through stars and the sky and the sand in the hour glass that was just counting down the time before everything goes back to shit. Zayn fell through the moon and the ocean and the paint at the tip of the paint brushes that Liam used to create the hard angels of Zayn’s face on canvases that were always stashed away for safe keeping. Zayn was left suspended in the place where his heart should have been, but its buried six feet beneath grass and dirt and earth with Liam where Zayn can’t follow.

Zayn wants it to be Liam’s body beside him in bed at night, but it’s not because Liam is dead and Zayn’s caught somewhere in between.

He remembers those rare nights when Liam would let go and wrap their bodies together and they’d whisper secrets to one another; sharing hopes and dreams and jokes that made them laugh just this side of too loud. He remembers a time when Liam had wrapped him in his arms like a gift and told him a story he remembered from school, something Greek, about a father and a son and wings made from wax.

One of them flew too close to the sun and his wings melted and he fell.

And Zayn thinks about that now and he thinks about how powerful and free and he felt with Liam.

How simply being in Liam’s presence made him feel as though he had wings; like he could fly.

Zayn thinks about it now and realizes that maybe his wings were made of wax too and perhaps he’d made that same mistake and flown too close to the sun.

Zayn thinks about it now and he thinks that his wings melted when Liam died and he fell.

Zayn thinks about it now and he realizes that maybe he was Liam’s angel.

Liam’s fallen angel with melted wings of wax…


	14. Simple

_Sometimes days passed and it felt like years. Long and slow like the seasons were taking their time; winter to spring to summer to fall. Liam was only eighteen, but by the end of the day he felt twenty-two._

_And then sometimes the days flew by like a blur. Liam would blink and the day was half over and Zayn was knocking on the door with the back of his hand wearing a shy smile when he asked if it was okay for him to come in._

_Sometimes things were just that simple._

_Simple._

_By definition simplicity was something Liam had come to long for, but it was far more complex than any words one could find next to the word in a dictionary. It was the twitch of Zayn’s lips when he was just about to smile. The childish excitement in his eyes when he shared a funny story or the blush on his cheeks whenever created some new work of art and said it reminded him of Zayn. It was things that didn’t always have words but held so much meaning. It was the little things; always the little things._

_Simple._

_Zayn was a creature of simplicity at its finest. He lived and he breathed and smiled and laughed. Zayn was quiet more often than not and the sound of his voice was something Liam learned to keep close to his heart and treasure despite his better judgments telling him not to. Liam kept Zayn close anyways though and he watched him and he loved and he admired and longed for the ease Zayn seemed to live his life with._

_Simple._

_Zayn was young, not that Liam wasn’t, and he absorbed things like a sponge. Zayn learned about greed and desperation, things that seemed to taint him and made Liam feel guilt that shook him to his very core. It was his fault for giving in and pressing kisses to Zayn’s lips that were drenched with sin. Liam remembers a time when he’d given Zayn and Niall a ride to the movies; saw the way Niall looked at Zayn with eyes filled a love that seemed so effortless and… simple._

_Simple._

_It was in Niall’s eyes when he looked at Zayn and in the way their hands brushed against each other when they walked. Niall’s heart and soul were laid out bare and tangible in the palm of Zayn’s hand, but he wasn’t even aware of it. Zayn’s mind was too preoccupied with something else; someone else. And as complex as it seemed to be it wasn’t. For them, it was simple._

_But for Liam it was hard. It was hard to watch Zayn look at him with longing in his eye. Zayn didn’t even really know what longing was; he didn’t know how to hide it in his deepest parts. Hold on to it tight like a secret or a prayer. Zayn’s longing was fresh and completely visible in the tone of his voice when he gifted people with words, and yet somehow nobody ever had a clue._

_That’s the thing with love. It’s such a common occurrence that people barely even notice it’s there anymore. It’s... simple._

_Liam saw the way Niall looked at Zayn and he decided to make a sacrifice. He decided to try and push Zayn’s affections off of him and in the other direction because Niall really could love Zayn so much better. Niall was a good kid and he would treat Zayn right._

_But Liam tried and he failed because maybe sometimes Love isn’t so simple. When he tried to bring it up Zayn just got hurt and angry and confused. He became disappointed; Liam could see it in his eyes because Zayn was just that easy to read._

_**(“I don’t want him,” Zayn had said. “You; I only want you.”** _

_**“Me?”** _

_**And he nodded. “You; Always you.”)** _

_Liam wasn’t sure if what he was doing was right or if he was thinking at all._

_All he knew was that he felt sorry for thinking that there was something out there better for Zayn than him or maybe it was for hoping that Zayn would come to that conclusion and move on to someone he could be with for the rest of his life. He felt sorry for not believing in something that Zayn knew was right and pushing it away; fighting a constant battle to prove Zayn wrong._

_But sometimes Liam thinks the harder he pushed Zayn away, the tighter and more desperately Zayn held on. He clung to Liam like a life-line._

_And it was Liam; it always had been._

_It was simple and Liam knew it._

_So he did the only thing he could think to do and he separated what they were. Severed the life-line and cut off all ties. He climbed behind the wheel and drove toward freedom and hoped to God that Zayn would understand._

_He hoped Zayn would understand that while love may be simple, loving Liam wasn’t._

_Liam hoped Zayn would understand that things were always easy until they weren’t._

_It was just that simple._


	15. Twisted Love

Niall wakes up with the gritty feeling of dried sweat covering his skin and his body wrapped tight around a skeletal boy with tear tracks coating his face. His muscles feel tight, like he’d been laying in the same position for too long, and Niall feels as though his chest is welded to Zayn’s, like their legs are tangled together like vines. Niall feels close to him in a way he never has before and, in a way, it feels nice; it’s new and it’s hopeful.

It’s only natural for his mind to immediately drift to sex. There’s the automatic thrill in the image of he and Zayn writhing together, twisting and turning, their bodies slick with sweat and love. There’s a thrill in wild-cat screams and entwined limbs; the joining of much more than bodies and tongues; of becoming one person instead of two.

But then again, it was different with Zayn and Niall. Niall didn’t want to just fuck Zayn up in one drunk, rambling night of booze and masks. He didn’t want it to escape their memories the next morning courtesy of drugs, alcohol and a little too much free will.

Niall wanted it to be a dance; a burning ballet of perspiration and smiles and three words that can seem so small, but mean more than the entire world. He wanted to spin.

With a glance at Zayn’s sour-vomit clothes and their tangled jean clad legs, Niall draws the conclusion that they really only had just slept together in the literal sense. He’d thought the conclusion would be more disappointing than it really was, but when he thought about this was something he’d grown used to.

It was just another sort of dancing.

Another sort of drug.

Another sort of love.

Twisted love.

“Have you ever been lonely?” Niall asks. His voice is soft and he knows Zayn doesn’t hear him, but Niall can see the frown on Zayn’s face and he really just had to ask. “Do you feel the emptiness in your heart?”

Because Niall did. He felt an emptiness that was too deep for words. He felt the emptiness that had taken a hold on Zayn’s heart which was withering away with each passing day.

_Have you ever been lonely?_

Niall feels like he can hear him; hear Liam’s voice like a whisper in the air. His voice was Zayn snuggling closer, desperate for any sort of human contact. Liam’s voice was Niall’s love-drenched lips pressing right down against Zayn’s heart, through his sweater and his skin and his muscle and bone. Love-drenched lips pressing right down to his fucking heart where Zayn was so goddamned lonely it broke Niall’s.

“I’m not lonely,” Niall tells himself so softly he barely hears it himself as Zayn’s eyes begin to flutter open. Niall tells himself again, only this time it’s in his head, and Zayn presses his face to Niall’s sweatshirt that smells of whiskey and vomit and Liam’s hazy cigarettes. _I’m not lonely_ , he thinks as the loneliest boy pulls himself up and presses his swollen lips to Niall’s.

Twisted love.

It’s just another sort of dancing.

_Do you feel the emptiness in your heart?_

And maybe Zayn is out of sorts and he can feel Liam in the room too and maybe he thinks Liam is Niall or the other way around and this is just him trying to feel the gaping hole in his chest. Niall isn’t sure and, to be honest, he really doesn’t care.

All he knows is that for that eternal second in time, neither of them felt the emptiness or the loneliness of their twisted love. 


	16. lost and found

Liam left.

He left and he left everything behind. He left his paintings and his words and his pills and his booze and those goddamned paper flowers and Zayn hated him.

Zayn hated Liam for leaving him behind too.

There were so many things Zayn wanted to tell him; things he needed to say out loud, but Liam wasn’t home. His home was in the ground now and he’d always be there. That was the worst part. Not that Liam was dead, but that he was always there; Zayn would always be able to find him. He’d lost Liam, but he knew exactly where he was.

But where was Zayn?

At this point he didn’t really know. He looks in the mirror and he sees his face, but it doesn’t belong to him anymore.

Maybe he left too and didn’t even realize it.

Sometimes Zayn thinks Liam took him along for the ride; that one day he’ll wake up and he’ll be buried beneath the natural earth as well. Trapped under layers of sweet grass and flowers. Zayn can only hope that Liam will be beside him underground, but then he remembers that he’s got Liam’s soul trapped inside his body  instead of his own and that may very well be the only thing keeping Zayn’s heart beating.

He’s alive, but only by default.

Zayn is alive to keep Liam living even though he’s dead and how strange of a concept is that?

How strange is it that Zayn’s the one breathing and the one who most resembles a corpse?

Zayn’s thoughts are a turntable and Liam is the one who is always playing in his mind. Even when he wakes up and Niall is holding him so tight like he’ll float away or disappear into the mattress if he lets go – like he loves Zayn through it all – Zayn wishes that it were Liam. He kisses Niall’s lips and Zayn knows that he loves his heart and his soul. He loves them because they understand. Niall knows that Zayn only sees Liam’s face when he looks through his own eyes. He knows that every time Zayn speaks a word, his tongue wants to form Liam’s name and still, Niall holds him even tighter; tighter than he knows.

Zayn thinks he always knew Liam was going, he just didn’t realize it until he never came back. He thinks that maybe he should have held on to Liam a little tighter so that he never had the chance to leave in the first place.

But that’s the thing.

Sometimes Zayn thinks he was holding on and he was holding on too tight. Zayn gripped onto Liam like his life depended on it so he left.

And when Liam left, he left Zayn behind. 


	17. Freefall

_It’s spring and it’s Liam’s birthday._

_Zayn had found a bottle of antique wine in his mother’s liquor cabinet and brought it over to Liam’s house to celebrate._

_“To growing up,” he’d says, lifting the bottle high and Liam can see his reflection in the glass, the green so deep it almost looks black. Zayn pours it into two glasses and the wine glitters, blood red, like a jewel. “And to the new experiences that come along with it.” He lifts his glass above his head, a sacrifice that nearly sloshes over the edge._

_Zayn’s words frighten Liam. He doesn’t want to grow up because that means getting older and responsibility and he isn’t sure he’s ready. It means facing his problems and making decisions. It means change and new and even though things are messy right now Liam is just beginning to get a handle on them and he isn’t sure he’s ready for more._ _  
  
_“I don’t want to grow up,” Liam whispers, his voice small like a child’s. And maybe he is. Maybe Liam is a child._ _

_Zayn hands Liam his glass of wine and presses their lips together; a bold move that maybe wasn’t so much bold as it was brave or a little unexpected. But his lips tasted of sweet grape alcohol and Zayn and Liam didn’t really mind at all._

_“Everyone grows up, Peter Pan,” Zayn laughs, his smile wide and real and maybe he’s a little bit high on the fact that he’s drinking when he really shouldn’t be._

_“To growing up,” Liam echoes and they drain their glasses as Liam makes an unconscious decision to drink himself into oblivion._

_They’re buzzed and the world is encased in a goblet of wine._

_The air smells of jasmine and the metallic tang of alcohol and Zayn’s lips taste like the sweetest strawberries even though there isn’t really much food in the house and Zayn hasn’t eaten in a little over five hours._

_He’d always been the one who was still learning. Zayn had always been the one to fumble or blush or go all hesitant and quiet._

_Zayn had always just been The One._

_But that night he’d had strawberry wine and Liam’s blood coursing through his veins. Zayn had the courage and the grace and the appeal._

_Dear God, was Zayn The One._

_Everything is fluid like an ocean where they were attached at the hands all salty sweat and slipping fingers._

_Zayn’s hair plastered to his forehead and his cheeks, tiny beads of sweat slipping slowly down the bridge of his nose._

_A river where they were being swept along, a river where Zayn’s eyes should have been; black, silk river and Zayn was holding on to Liam so tight._

_They were growing up; growing up too fast._

_Falling too fast._

_Dying too fast._

_Screaming too loud._

_Liam draws blood. His fingernails scrape at Zayn’s shoulders, down his back. His teeth rake against the tender skin of Zayn’s neck and the blood that dribbles out is like wine in a goblet, the deepest velvet crimson. Liam draws blood, the aging blood they both shared and that’s how he knows it’s real._

_It’s so goddamned real._

_He’s never been this high. Never this high._

_Not when he was taking all those pills or when he was huffing chemicals in the backs of anonymous bathrooms. Not when he was with Angel whose plush powder skin covered Liam’s like a blanket. Not when he was empty of soul but full of words or even when his brush painted Zayn’s face across his canvas._

_Liam has never been so high and he’s just so sure that they’ll fall._

_That they’re flying too close to the sun._

_But, then again, he’s also sure that they could be past the sun; up somewhere among the stars and the planets and Liam thinks – no, he knows – that no matter how high they go he’ll still have Zayn._

_Even if they fell, he’d still be falling with Zayn._

_Liam is inside of Zayn in every sense of the word and it’s like taking in another drug. It’s like needing something new and Zayn was his fix. Their bodies weave together like they’ll never become untangled, but maybe… maybe they don’t really want them to._

_Liam thinks maybe he doesn’t want them too because it’s good feeling so connected, so together._

_He thinks he might like being one instead of two._

_“Liam…” Zayn says and his voice is soft and quiet and rough and drunk. “I feel so whole. I just feel so goddamned whole.”_

_And Liam can’t speak. He can only feel himself floating away as Zayn holds on tighter and tighter. He feels himself floating amongst the stars and the planets because he’s past the sun and suddenly everything is encased in darkness because they can only stay so connected for so long._

_The high always comes to an end._

_And dear God, they’re falling._ _  
_


	18. The Moon and the Stars

Going to Liam’s grave is Niall’s idea.

Zayn looks at Liam’s headstone and immediately knows what’s wrong. Liam was never meant to be buried under cold dirt and rocks and grass that feels too thick with dew. Liam didn’t belong to the earth. He should have been engulfed in flames and scattered around all the places he loved.

Niall looks and Zayn and knows exactly what he’s thinking; wonders if Zayn belongs in a casket with Liam or burned and scattered around the world as well.

There are violent violet petals, wilting, hanging their faces toward the earth crying and shouting about how Liam shouldn’t be down there, but their voices are tired and strained – Niall can feel it – and soon fall quiet because there isn’t much that can be done. Liam is dead and buried, trapped between hell and the living where Zayn can’t follow.

Niall looks to Zayn and sees that he’s lost. His eyes are open but his face is blank and his gaze is distorted. He sees nothing, knows nothing. He stands before Liam’s grave and gets lost; dazed and confused.

Niall watches Zayn watch dead air.

Dead air breathes.

Dead air stares.

It’s so quiet and nothing moves. The ground surrounding them is painted with fallen leaves and the sky is pierced by the naked branches of winter and it’s beautiful, but everything is so dead. Niall feels vulnerable and exposed because there’s nothing to hear but the beating of hearts and the only one he can really make out is his own crashing and pounding against his chest. He suddenly feels that Zayn’s has stopped beating entirely and he pulls the boy into his own shivering body, places his palm over his heart and wills himself to feel something; anything.

( _“Make me believe you’re still alive; help me believe you’re still breathing.”_ )

Zayn’s heart gives a few fragile beats beneath all the skin and bone and muscle, beneath the warmth of Niall’s hand pressed tight against his winter coat. The beat is there but Niall feels as though it’s shrinking just as the light that used to fill Zayn’s eyes gets dimmer and dimmer as they days pass them by.

It’s only so long before it goes out completely.

“I held on too tight,” Zayn whispers. His voice is made of broken glass, shredding his throat and cutting the chapped skin of his lips like it’s fighting to draw blood and bleed him out. He’s choking. “I’m holding on to him too tight.”

Niall knew this; he’d known it all along, but Zayn needed it. He needed someone to force him to breathe in the frosty winter and force the sharpness out of his chest. He needed someone to hold his broken bones together, to collect his shattered heart (the one Liam had left behind) and hold it in the palm of their hand until Zayn was ready to take it back.

Zayn needed to know someone that still had a visible and invisible excuse to love him even though he’d already disappeared.

“Please,” Zayn begs, his voice raw and real and more alive than it’s been since he’d fallen. “Love me.”

And Niall can hear him, knows Zayn can too.

Liam saying that he does, but sometimes that’s not enough.

Sometimes we feel too much and we fly too close to the sun.  
  
“Love me.”

And Niall does. Niall loves Zayn more than the moon could ever love the sun or the stars or anything in between. Niall loves Zayn and it’s ripping him apart and spreading whatever he has left of himself at Zayn’s feet. It’s a love that has buried itself deep under Zayn’s skin, but the broken boy is just too numb to feel.

Niall can’t kiss him atop Liam’s grave; it just doesn’t feel right. Zayn is just so shaky pale and he looks like the ghost of someone who had been loved quiet and broken and hard. He looks like a boy who has just realized that it’s over and there really is no going back.

Niall wraps his arms around his friend, the boy who holds his heart and almost doesn’t know it, and wills him not to go where he can’t follow.


	19. Artist's Eye

They say the eye is the best artist, but sometimes Niall wasn’t sure if the picture his were painting was beautifully tragic or tragically beautiful. Sometimes Niall would look at Zayn in the months after Liam’s death and feel as though he could literally see the wound all raw and bloody and open; gory in every sense of the word. Niall would look at Zayn and see nothing but a boy ripped to shreds; bone fragments piercing through the skin of a pale corpse – the battered shell of a boy who used to know the meaning of a smile.

It was times like those – when the would looked so painfully fresh as the day the blood Zayn and Liam seemed to share was strewn about the cold, snow covered highway – that Niall placed his palm over the wound. He placed his palm over Zayn’s broken and battered heart and he imagined his life line had the power to stich it up and make it better. He willed his pressured kiss to chase away the loss and the sorrow so that all that was left was love and the memory. Niall willed his heated skin, slick with sweat, to absorb all the pain so that he could carry the burden instead of the boy he loved.

Niall imagined that their bodies, so tightly connected in almost every way, would simply tie up all of Zayn’s loose ends.

Niall had always been the observer. He watched with a hunger and learned all that he could about Zayn. It was a sure possibility that he knew more about Zayn’s quirks and habits than anyone else in the world. Niall knew about how Zayn clicked his teeth together when he was anxious and that he harbored a secret guilt for laughing the hardest when other people hurt themselves. And Niall also knew that the only thing tying Zayn to this earth and keeping him from moving on to the next was Niall’s calming palm over heart tethering to the ground, keeping him from disappearing altogether.

But did Niall know Zayn?

Not really.

Niall didn’t know what made Zayn tick. At times, he would look up, lying across Zayn’s bed, and he’d see a stranger pulling on Niall’s shirt over a brittle frame that Niall sometimes hardly even recognized. The jaunty face was warped and foreign to Niall’s eyes. Zayn was just so broken and fragmented; silver chrome and hard metal that was devastatingly cool to the touch. Niall wanted to know what Zayn was made of; to see his insides and wrap the other boy’s body all around him just so he could feel half as close to him as Liam ever did.

Niall wanted Zayn – mind, body, and spirit.

Sometimes Niall wondered if Liam knew all of the things he did. If he and Zayn had been that close. The truth was, when Niall really thought about it, that Liam had to know more. He had to.

But he also wondered if Liam knew that Zayn cried every time Niall made love to him. When Zayn’s name was spilling, muffled and barely audible, into the pillow Zayn was screaming through sobs and memories and lies.

Niall wondered if Liam knew that Zayn chewed his nails to the nub and that they sometimes left angry red streaks of blood whenever Zayn dragged his fingers down Niall’s bare back.

He wondered if Liam knew about how Zayn would sometimes sob and be unable to stop.

How his muscles would begin to scream and ache and he would cry even harder, but the hiccups and the tears just never seem to stop.

How Zayn would cry until he passed out from exhaustion and Niall would wake up later that night to Zayn’s tears soaking into the thin cotton of his T-shirt.

Liam knew more about the quirks and the habits and the favorites, but Niall often wondered if he knew of the anguish that haunted Zayn on a day to day basis; if he understood the fact that he’d turned Zayn into a living ghost story.

Zayn was just full of bad things; of demons and regret that made him sicker than anything Niall had ever experienced. There were demons in his head and in his heart; his breath and his lunch. Zayn carried a regret that ate away at his heart and killed him; ruined his eternity smile and killed the boy Zayn loved most.

Regret, however, did not kill Liam but a love too strong killed them both.

Sometimes Niall was happy that Liam was gone so he could be the one under Zayn’s sheets at night. Niall had figured he could kiss him and that they would make it. He and Zayn would make it under the stars despite the connection that seemed to tie Zayn to a boy six feet under the ground.

Sometimes Niall was happy, but most nights he was not.

Most nights Niall would pray to God for Liam’s return even though he knew it meant losing the boy he’s ever loved. He prayed to God for Liam to come and complete Zayn in the way Niall knew he never could.


	20. Voodoo Heart

People tell him every day that he needs to let go and, deep down, even though he may never say so much in words, Zayn knows that he wants to.

Most days he wishes that it were as simple as letting Liam go where he belongs. Zayn thinks it really should be that simple because Niall is there and he loves him more than Zayn can even begin to comprehend but, for some reason, Liam doesn’t seem to want to let Zayn love him back.

Liam wanted Zayn to go to Niall, but Zayn doesn’t think that is the case; not anymore. Death has made Liam selfish and, in turn, it has rotted Zayn into this zombie like state that he can’t seem to snap out of.

Voodoo Heart.

Every time Zayn thinks of Liam it’s like another needling stuck into his heart; another pin driven straight into the center of his eye.

Voodoo Heart.

Zayn can’t control his actions, his emotions. There are pins and needles lodged into his heart and in his brain and it makes him sick ( _so sick_ ) and he can’t control his breathing no matter how hard he tries.

And Liam would be so disappointed in him. Zayn knows it. Liam would look at him and see him fading away, disappearing into the background; becoming this ghost. It’s like here Zayn is for the final time… and here he is no longer. It’s a tragic magic act; a failed trick.

Voodoo Heart.

Zayn wants nothing and everything all at once.

He wants Liam, but Liam is gone.

A selfish boy with pins and needles stuck into his chest.

A selfish boy with a Voodoo heart that can’t seem to let the dead boy in the snow walk away.


	21. The Ocean and the Boy

Niall wakes up with his heart in his throat beating wildly to a sad tune that makes him feel as though he’s mourning a lost love. He expects to open is eyes and find Zayn crying softly in his sleep, but when he does he finds nothing but the outline Zayn’s body had left behind in the sheets. There are no shattered crystal tears or a boy Niall longs to touch and smell the sweat from when they’d made love a few short hours earlier. It’s just sex stained sheets and pillows that smell a little stale.

Niall’s arms feel empty as if something had been stolen from him. The hollow cavity of his chest is cold and the ghost of Zayn’s naked back is barely present and yet there is still a bit of warmth left over; a lingering sweetness that tells Niall that Zayn hasn't been gone all that long.

Niall rises from the bed and the air feels fluid, surreal, as if an ocean had been built through the watery time of sleep and passion. The fading echoes of impassioned love cries and burning touches drag across Niall’s blurred mind like waves and pull across black sand and back into the ocean where he belongs. At home in the ocean where lanky tides lazily waft him and Zayn through drifts and the sand and the reflection of the moon on the water. An ocean of salty, human tears.

If Niall listens closely he can hear the cry of the ocean. She weeps for his return; for him to find the one he loves and bring him down into their bed of sand.

And Niall thinks he has to save him but he doesn’t know how. All he can see are the waves and Zayn’s echoed screams of “harder. God, Niall, love me harder.”

The ocean had carried Niall from the bed and down the hall to where the water laps angrily at the closed bathroom door. Pale pearl light shines through the cracks, blinding his fuzzy eyes.

Niall doesn’t bother with knocking, just pushes the door open just as the water rushes over his bare feet like the cold welcoming sea.

And there he is. Dead, lifeless Zayn floating in the bathtub overflowing with water. A skeleton of a boy with skin as white as the moon.

Niall doesn’t think twice before his hands are plunging into the bathtub pulling Zayn’s near weightless body from the depths of the gaping porcelain mouth. He slams his palm into the icy cold of Zayn’s back in attempts to empty his lungs of the water that had drowned him.

At first Zayn is motionless and Niall thinks it’s over but then the water comes rushing from his lungs like a gushing torrent spilling onto the wet bathroom floor. The ocean is receding, draining into the shadow-carpeted hallway. Zayn hacks and coughs, regaining life with each ragged tip of his throat. His icy, naked body shakes like a quaking earth threatening to shatter with each spill of water from his torn throat.

“Zayn…” Niall whispers, holding the violently shaking boy in his lap as the both of them lay drenched on the blue-ocean tiled floor. Salty tears of fear and gratitude slice through Niall’s cheeks and fall onto Zayn’s.

“I can’t…” Zayn weeps quietly. His lungs feel like they’re on fire. “Please let me go,” he whispers. “I don’t want—I can’t make it without him.”

It’s the first time they’d ever really spoken of Liam and Zayn in that regard. Prior to that moment it was simply a secret that hung moist in the air. A secret unearthed by the blackest ocean.

“He wouldn’t want you to go this way,” Niall murmurs. “He’d want you to be strong. I need you to be stronger than this.”

And they’re nothing but two naked boys weeping on a bathroom floor crying for a lost love. Nobody else is there to hear their silent prayers to a God neither of them is even sure really exists and the whispered I love yous that almost go unnoticed by the only other person in the room.

But that’s the thing, Niall thinks. The world just doesn’t know what they’d lost.   
  



	22. In Love and Death

_They say that when you die there’s this flashback of every scene of your life. Kind of like a trippy eighties movie; like this explosion of memories flashing right before your eyes. It’s supposed to be like a slide show – one slide after another, playing over your trials and errors; the best parts of your life and all the times you cried because things just weren’t good enough. It’s like one giant equation that’s supposed to amount to something significant. And when it’s all over you learn that all those times when you were angry and all those times when you so happy you thought you might actually explode – you learn that they were all a part of something so much bigger than yourself._

_In the end, they made you into something you should be proud of._

_They say death is sort of like that and all your life your brain is really just taking snapshots of what it wants to show you when you go just to prove that, in the end, it was all worth it._

_When Liam died, he only saw Zayn._

_He was driving and he’d fucked himself up on purpose. His blood was racing and on that night he sort of knew it was no longer the same blood he felt was running through Zayn’s veins. Zayn’s blood was clean and pure and Liam had intentionally poisoned his with booze and alcohol just so he’d have the nerve to go through with it._

_Liam wanted Zayn and if he weren’t so scared and selfish he could have had Zayn; he already did. Any day of the week, any year in the lifetime Liam had set in front of him, he could have Zayn._

_Liam wanted him, but more than that he wanted Zayn to hate him, to hate every single thing about him and wish him dead because that was what Liam wanted for himself. If Zayn hated him it would be so much easier for Liam to remove himself from the picture. If Zayn didn’t want him, if he resented and despised Liam, then he could cut himself out._

_And Zayn would live. He would live and he would laugh and love someone so much better – someone like Niall – who would love him back the way Liam never could._

_That was all Liam wanted in the end – was to see Zayn smile because even though Zayn’s lips would curve and his eyes would light up when Liam was living there was always that edge of sadness._

_So Liam spun the wheel. There was an explosion and flames and the screeching sound of tires and glass. It was the most beautiful crash he’d ever seen, crystal raining down like a bittersweet storm and the scream of metal being wretched inside out._

_There was fire everywhere, thick black smoke that wrapped around Liam’s lungs like two hands grasped in prayer; Flames that embraced and engulfed him and threw Liam out in the snow to die._

_In the last moments, when the slideshow was over and the credits had finished rolling, Liam hoped that Zayn knew he was everything. That it was always him even though it never really could be. He just hoped that Zayn knew._

_Liam hoped Zayn knew that by dying, he was giving Zayn life._


	23. Marionette Boy

 

Tonight, Zayn’s mind feels close to home; close to home and to his heart which is finally beating.

Tonight, Zayn’s mind isn’t focused on Liam. He’s still buried somewhere within the depths of Zayn’s soul(the one they’d once shared), dancing a beautifully tragic ballet inside Zayn’s still fragile body, but tonight Zayn’s mind is empty of Liam’s eyes. He can still see his smile, but it floats somewhere in the back of Zayn’s mind, not unimportant but not a priority either.

Tonight, Zayn directs all thoughts to Niall, beautiful, sweet Niall who loves him unconditionally.

Tonight, the silent boy is full of words and Zayn hopes that Niall hears them. Zayn hopes Niall can taste the love on his tongue because he knows he doesn’t say it often enough.

But he does. Zayn loves him.

“I love you,” he says as they sit together on his bed. Niall is naked and so is Zayn but they haven’t fucked. They’ll probably speak more with their bodies later, but for now it’s words and words alone.

“How can you say that?” Niall whispers and Zayn can see the hurt in his eyes. Niall usually does such a good job at hiding it, but tonight everything is out for show.

“Like this,” Zayn answers trying on a smile that will hopefully put one on Niall’s face. “I love you.”

Zayn waits, but it doesn’t come.

“You nearly killed yourself for him,” Niall says plainly.

“And you saved me,” Zayn replies. “And I love you.”

“Don’t say that.”

Zayn furrows his brow. He doesn’t get it. This is exactly what Niall wanted. Niall wanted him and now Zayn is here and ready and he loves him and Niall isn’t having it.

“Can’t I love more than one person?” Zayn asks quietly, moving to straddle Niall’s naked hips. “I love you. I’m choosing you.”

Tonight Niall’s body is lithe and golden under the light from Zayn’s lamp. Niall is beautiful and nobody has ever told him that. Nobody has ever loved him before and Zayn wants to do the job right.

“You were there for me,” Zayn says stroking the sprinkling of hair at Niall’s hips. “You were there when Liam left and took me away. I was lost, but you kept me grounded… I’ve never deserved you and yet you saved me anyways. You stayed anyways and I never understood why, but I’m glad you did.”

“Because I love you,” Niall replies easily. “That’s why I’m here.”  
  
Zayn can tell that Niall is breaking; that maybe he was just scared before because Zayn had never spoken so openly.

“I’m here too,” he whispers, pressing his hand to Niall’s chest. Palm over heart, and Zayn can feel it beating just for him; it pounds his name.

Niall balances up on his elbows, watching Zayn above him. Zayn knows what he’s thinking: that this could just be a phase; a strange mood Zayn’s in, and tomorrow he’ll wake up and crash Niall’s car just so he can be with Liam.

But

“Liam is dead,” Zayn whispers, and his throat stings with the words. “I love him, but he’s dead and you’re alive and you’re here and I love you, too.” Zayn pauses, blinks back tears. “He wanted me with you; always.”

“But that’s not the same,” Niall says.

Zayn shakes his head. “No. It isn’t. It’ll never be the same, but it can be different. I can love you in different ways that mean the same thing.”  
  
Niall smiles then, slow and genuine and Zayn wants to be wherever he is tonight and that is there, right there with Niall in his room, naked save for their hearts.

“You put me together again,” Zayn whispers and Niall’s eyes glaze over with love and lust and everything in between and Zayn knows they’re done speaking with words.

They were always closest when they fucked.

Niall gathers all the puppet parts of Zayn’s body and he becomes his Marionette Boy. Zayn lets Niall do whatever he likes, loves the hands on his body that remind him just how alive he really is.

“You are my love-baby, and I do love you, baby,” Niall sings into Zayn’s ear, making his eyes crinkle around the edges as he laughs.

The lamp is like a sun made of honey just for them. They’re alone in the room, just Zayn and Niall, and they love each other; need each other. Niall’s tangy lips pull Zayn into a lazy coma, limp when he lays on top of him. The fires of lust are subdued by the slow-crashing waves of love.

Love.

Once that was a word tinged with death, but is now filled with life.

Zayn is ready for him, waiting with a muted groan on his lips when Niall lowers himself onto him. Niall’s fingers find his hips like they have a thousand times before. Their lips fit together with a smile, something a bit newer than everything else. Niall breathes Zayn in and this time Zayn breathes him in as well and they fit.

They fit like wet puzzle pieces: not perfectly, but close enough. It feels good enough (maybe a little better).

It feels.

Niall.

Zayn loves Niall like the fall before the winter; so neutral, but so beautiful. No one ever told him how beautiful he was, but Niall is. He was always there, always ready for Zayn before Zayn even knew it.

And now Zayn is ready too.

“I’m ready,” Zayn whispers, combing his fingers through Niall’s sweat dampened hair. “I’m finally ready for you.”


	24. A Feather In The Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, this is the end. its been swell. thanks to everyone who read and stuff :)

_Liam can see where the front door to Zayn’s house opens and Niall walks out looking as if he belongs. His feet against the hard cement of the driveway sound similar to the way Liam’s used to only now Liam can hear Niall’s heart beating slow and strong so unlike his own._

_Liam smiles, mumbles “thank you” as Niall passes him by. His voice gets carried off in the wind though, as Niall’s breath puffs out in small clouds of air brushing Liam’s cheek. He can’t see him._

_But Niall’s eyes travel up toward the sky, searching the clouds for something Liam can’t quite fathom. Then he says “he loves me,” like a breath of fresh air, the words hardly making a sound. Niall seems surprised the words even came out of his mouth and then reassured because he knows that they’re true._

_“I know,” Liam whispers, because he knows it to be true as well._

_“Liam…” Niall’s voice is soft as he looks around like he’s trying to spot him. Liam is nothing but a whisper in his ear and Niall seems to notice so he nods and simply adds “Thank you for giving him hope.”_

_And then Zayn, sweet beautiful Zayn, walks out of the house as well. He looks so much older than Liam has ever seen him with lines of age etched into his skin. He calls out for Niall, and the lines turn to laugh lines and Liam is unbelievably grateful that Zayn had once again learned to smile. He smiles like he can see eternity and love and life and Liam is glad because that’s all he’s ever wanted._ __  
  
_He stands in the middle of the sidewalk watching Zayn walk towards both him and Niall and it’s almost like an underwater dream. Zayn is walking on water and Liam can’t move out of his path so it’s like they’re walking toward each other and the momentum is pushing Liam along. He knows they’re going to collide and he prays to whatever god he has yet to meet that they’ll have some sort of contact._

_They crash, meeting at the shoulders, and Liam holds the breath that has yet to fill his lungs. Zayn stops in his tracks, inhaling sharply, and Liam is afraid he’s going to pass out. They’re standing shoulder to shoulder going in opposite directions only Zayn knows exactly where he’s going and Liam is only fading away._

_“Liam,” Zayn whispers, his breath hitching in his throat._

_Zayn can feel him Liam is on his skin, against his lips, in his soul._

_Liam knows Zayn won’t hear him if he speaks, but does anyways and breaths his name, reaches out to touch Zayn’s cheek. Zayn closes his eyes and sighs as Liam’s fingers trail down his cheekbone. He can feel, but he can’t see._

_There’s a single tear clinging to Zayn’s eyelash just before it drips onto the tip of Liam’s finger. It wobbles precariously for a moment and then slides down the length of his palm. Zayn lifts his hand and it falls upon Liam’s chest, palm over heart, and for that split second Liam is alive again. His heart beats and icy air fills his lungs, stinging his chest._

_Zayn’s jaw trembles, his voice shaky as he says he’s going to go._

_“I’ve got to let you go now.”_

_For a moment it’s just them. It’s just Zayn and Liam and it’s almost like before only Liam is happy and everything is as it should have been._

_And then_

_“Zayn!”_

_It’s Niall and he’s grinning as he waves Zayn over._

_“Come on, love. Let’s go!”_

_Let’s go._

_Let go._

_Niall reaches out a hand, beckoning Zayn to take it._

_And Zayn does, twining their fingers together as he looks to the wind, whispers “Bye, Liam.”_

_And then Liam is gone, just a feather in the wind._


End file.
